Chapter 29 Gracie #2
Maya rolls her eyes. “Do you remember that motherfucker I married right out of grad school? Bobby?”
I grimace at the unexpected turn of conversation, because it’s somehow worse. Maya was a grad student when I was just a sophomore, but we became friends while working part-time at the school café together. Bobby was our supervisor.
“Yeah, I remember him,” I say darkly.
She nods and takes a breath. “Long story short, things got rough. I didn’t have any money for a decent divorce lawyer, but a friend put me in touch with this amazing organization that helps women out of bad situations, and Jude took on my case, free of charge.”
She smiles up at him, emotion warming her gaze, and he returns it with a subdued nod. “It was my pleasure to help.”
She laughs. “You mean it was a pleasure to make that man shit bricks in court?”
His full lips tug up at one corner, and there’s a glint in his eye that almost looks predatory. “That, too.”
Maya lets out a big exhale and does a little shimmy of her muscled shoulders like she’s shaking off the mere mention of her ex.
Meanwhile, pieces of a puzzle I’ve been trying to solve blindfolded don’t fall into place, but I start to feel their edges.
Is this the kind of pro bono work he does?
When Henry mentioned it, I imagined him helping low-income clients with basic divorce filings or offering free advice at legal clinics—not this.
“Anyway, thank you for everything. Helping me calm everyone down, organizing rides, playing doctor,” Maya says with a pointed glance at Brooke, who’s adjusting the ice pack on her forehead with a wince.
“And for risking life and limb for that one,” she mutters, jerking her head toward Kaylie as she burps in her sleep.
“It was nothing,” Jude says.
She rolls her eyes before giving me a flat look. “These women were mid–Coyote Ugly on top of my bar when he got here. She refused to get down,” Maya tells me, not knowing I just witnessed the whole debacle.
“It was my dishonor to catch her,” Jude says dryly, eyeing her rumpled sash.
Maya snorts while I send up another prayer of thanks for his willingness to help.
“Listen, I really need to get out front and help Eve—this class was supposed to end an hour ago.” She shakes her head and looks at me. “Would you two mind just staying here until they’re all in cars? I don’t trust them not to set something on fire.”
“Of course,” I say, feeling winded from this whole night, but maybe especially from the possible revelation about Jude and his work.
“I’ll see if I can get a cleaner to come first thing tomorrow morning.
If you could also let me know how much to charge Brooke for damages, I’ll get on that right away. ”
“Thanks for everything, Gracie. Jude, we should catch up sometime. Free dance lessons whenever you want,” she says with a wink before hurrying out to help her wife.
After she’s gone, Jude and I look at each other fully for the first time all night.
In his pristine joggers, soft black T-shirt, and damp waves, he’s completely out of place amongst the wreckage, and all I want to do is crush myself against him.
He must have the same thought, because the next moment, I’m up against his warm chest, breathing in clean cotton and the faint scent of chlorine.
“Thank you,” I whisper, hardly able to get the words out around the swell of gratitude in my chest. “I’m so sorry I ruined your night.”
“Ruined? How many people can say that they’ve successfully re-created the flying leap scene from Dirty Dancing with a wasted stranger?”
“I think calling that successful might be a stretch,” I say, a reluctant smile pulling at my lips.
“You wound me,” he deadpans, but his eyes are moving over my face like he hasn’t seen me in months.
“Well, even if your form does need work, I couldn’t be more grateful,” I say, my voice softening as I stare up at him. “Thank you for dropping everything for me.”
“You never have to say thank you for letting me take care of you,” he says quietly.
My stomach flips, but before I can argue that catching drunken, bar-leaping strangers on my behalf definitely warrants thanks, there’s a loud chime from a nearby phone.
We turn to see Kaylie jerk awake, before blearily unlocking her screen.
She elbows the friend next to her and says, “Ride’s here, Becca. ”
Jude and I go at once to help them to their unsteady feet, and for the next fifteen minutes, it’s like supervising school pickup as we get these women safely into cars and off our hands. The last person to leave is Brooke, who we’ve convinced to visit the ER to get checked for a concussion.
“Please, just let me know how much Maya needs for repairs,” she says one last time from the window of her ride. “And I’m so sorry again for everyone’s behavior and—”
“Just take care of yourself tonight, Brooke. We’ll talk tomorrow once you’ve rested up.”
The car mercifully drives off, and I let out a massive sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God that’s over.”
The sidewalks are crowded despite the late hour as groups of people migrate toward eerie music playing from the river. It’s a summertime Saturday night in Providence, which means one thing: Waterfire—a weekly spectacle where bonfires are set ablaze in the middle of the river.
Without deciding to, Jude and I begin slowly walking, too, swept along by the crowd.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Definitely livened up my Saturday night.”
“That tells me nothing,” I say as we round a corner and see our first views of the fire-lit river and thousands of people gathered along the banks. “Based on that hair extension hanging from the ceiling fan, you could have been skydiving and had a less lively time.”
“And where in the skydiving-to-bachelorette scale of liveliness do you think clipping Taco’s nails would fall?”
My eyes widen. “I’m honestly shocked she let you.”
A group of teenagers dressed as fairies runs past giggling, and Jude pulls me to his side when I’m clipped by a wing. “ ‘Let you’ implies that I was successful in the attempt. I gave up and went for a swim instead,” he says, hand sliding to my waist.
I laugh while my heart spins in my chest until it’s dizzy. He doesn’t let go. “I bet I could do it in less than five minutes,” I boast.
“If you did, the world would have one less set of deadly weapons to worry about,” he says, leading us toward a tent and the intoxicating smell of kettle corn. “Hungry?”
When I nod, he buys me a bag of popcorn approximately the size of my torso. But I don’t argue. I’m too busy fighting against a current of pure fantasy—that this could be more than casual.
I know it’s a ridiculous thought. I’m the one insisting on no strings, and the number of barriers between us could block an extinction-event asteroid.
But with his hand on my waist, it’s hard not to feel wanted.
Adored, even. It makes me think the most dangerous thought anybody can have about an emotionally unavailable man—maybe I can fix him. Maybe I’ll be the one who opens him up.
“My place isn’t too far from here,” he says. “And I don’t mean to brag, but my couch is really comfortable.”
Electricity leaps in my stomach. “Is this just a ploy to get me to cut your cat’s nails?”
He smiles. “Less ploy, more plea. But only if you think saving a man from being sliced to ribbons in his sleep is a worthy cause.”
In the firelight off the river, his eyes are nothing but trouble. The kind that blurs hesitation into desperation, until I’m ignoring every instinct shouting that I’m about to fall even deeper. Instead, I meet his gaze and say, “Lead the way.”